


Lust only grows like anger and revenge

by rokklagio



Series: Nemesis [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: But mostly kissing, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Other, some frottage, some truths revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokklagio/pseuds/rokklagio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turned out to be very angsty, more than I predicted at first. I couldn't sleep and I basically wrote down some of my headcanons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lust only grows like anger and revenge

It was Friday, and that night was particularly chill being June and all, everyone expected to grill some meat outside Bahorel's apartment, which was tiny but had a huge terrace where at least thirty people could fit, drink in hand considered. Grantaire loved drinking wine just to collapse right under the brightest stars, and he was thrilled to spend the night with Bahorel, Feuilly and Jehan whenever he got the opportunity to crash at his enormous friend's old couch.

However, that night a strong breeze made the tree outside dance and the kids with their jackets on shiver, and Grantaire and his group were no exception. It wasn't just him and the usual three - Musichetta and Cosette were already there, as Joly needed to come up with slides for a minor presentation for his immunology project - they explained him everything as the artist opened the second beer of the night - and he was already aware that Joly's knowledge on graphics programs was approximately next to nothing. Grantaire himself wasn't good with them, but that was because he hated producing art on computer, and also because his old ass laptop could run almost nothing.

He went for his third beer as he listened to the doorbell chirp and just watched as both Joly and Feuilly rushed to open it, as if there was a thrilling reason behind it. Marius, Courfeyrac and Combeferre stepped inside, dripping wet. He glanced briefly at the window and, yes, it looked like there was a little storm outside. The red-headed man bursted out laughing as the golden trio stumbled towards the couch and Bahorel offered them some beers. Courfeyrac and Marius accepted quite happily, while Combeferre just dismissed the offer with a hand. They looked exhausted.

"Leave the door open, the others are coming anytime soon," said Combeferre, as he checked the state of his glasses and let Cosette dry his hair with a towel.

He felt a bit useless, resting against the windowsill, sipping beer and generally minding his own businness, but he was also the same person who, just the night before, told them that it was nuts to block some neonazi protesters while there was also the police out (a protest for a very futile reason, if you ask Grantaire, as he didn't enjoy football at all). They had an endless discussion on rights that didn't go anywhere: Enjolras was still as stubborn as a mule and Grantaire had no desire to be called awful names just because he prefers to speak his mind instead of acting on impulse.

And, as if he summoned him with his mind, Enjolras walked in the room with the fiercest of the smiles and an ugly, bright red cut on his forehead. Jehan trotted right behind him, standing on a foot.

It was time for action, then.

As the rest of his friends rushed to Enjolras, he lunged on the sofa and waved a hand towards the poet. "Jehan, what the fuck?" he called the smaller boy to his side and examined his ugly limp. "Are you ok?"

The smaller boy sat on the couch and stroked his leg almost compulsively. "Yeah, yeah, just a twisted ankle," and he raised his grey eyes to look at the boy with the glorious golden locks wet with blood, "but Enjolras was hit by one of the policemen. Can you believe it? They let those despicable beings wander free in the streets but-"

"They have the right to protest, just as you do. This is what democracy brought us to."

He heard a groan and found Enjolras pressing a wet towel against his head, giving him a disdainful look.

"Are you going to start another argument on the topic? Because I would be very content with using this towel to gag your insufferable mouth."

Grantaire raised both his eyebrows at the affirmation, but before he could answer with some cunning sexual reference, Combeferre got on his feet, grasped Enjolras' arm and they both stormed out of the room.

And this is where he hates himself costantly, every minute of his life, whenever he's not drunk: he felt a sting of jealousy the precise moment Combeferre closed his fingers aroung the blonde man's arm, probably to get him not to start another fight, but Grantaire felt jealous nonetheless.

His crush was starting to get incredibly scary, if his mood was going to depend on what was formed on Enjolras' lips, and his golden boy has never been the most considerate of people.

He decided to start drinking his beer in silence. Jehan leant closer and kissed him on the cheek, before waving his hands to Eponine and Bossuet, who returned from their shift just minutes before. He seized the opportunity to take Jehan's legs on his lap to massage his injuried ankle. The smaller boy turned around to flash him a shy smile.

"Are you guys okay? We heard about the protests on tv, but they didn't say much."

Eponine's eyes narrowed especially on Marius, who wasn't wounded but looked very pale. They had to run and then walk for over a mile to get to Bahorel's apartment, he explained. Grantaire wasn't really listening: Jehan started tracing confused patterns on his arm, as if he wanted to reciprocate his massage.

This was something very common between the two of them. Grantaire rarely had someone he wanted to touch, and Jehan was one of those people who were both shy and invadent, and all their friends were okay with that.

And even if he appreciated the fact that their group was the most incestous thing ever after the Lannister and the Targaryen families combined, he wished for some animosity among their friends.

For example, he would have loved to see Courfeyrac frown before such displays of affection, but the guy was so okay with people touching each other, that he just encouraged that kind of things all the more. And this was mostly because he had no clue of Jehan's explosive crush on him, but neither did the others, and Grantaire knew about it only because the poet whispered the secret in his ear once when he was sober enough to remember.

Feuilly put some music on his laptop as Enjolras and Combeferre finally came out of the kitchen. This time Combeferre accepted the beer.

"I think  it's the right time for that Merlot, don't you think, Bahorel?" shouted Courfeyrac from the overcrowded couch, and the host agreed, nodding to the music.

Jehan was watching Courfeyrac as if he was counting the moles on his cheeks and Grantaire had already finished his beer when Enjolras reappeared before his eyes. He couldn't deal with anything that concerned Enjolras if he wasn't drunk enough, so he waited anxiously for Bahorel to bring the wine.

"Ha! I almost forgot!" exclaimed Jehan, as the spell was broken. He leant forward and started rummaging inside his bag. Bahorel handed Grantaire his glass of wine ("before you steal the whole bottle") and Jehan finally took out a little plastic bag of weed from his sky-blue wallet.

"I ran out of papers. Do you have some?"

"Are you kidding, you're lucky I've got a lighter. Bossuet!"

Grantaire was also lucky enough to find out that his friend was in a deep conversation with Enjolras, who looked at his feet while Bossuet turned around. "What?"

"Do you have any papers left?"

"No, ask 'Chetta."

"Jesus Christ!" he started shouting louder, "'CHETTA!"

The girl gathered her dreads in a lousy bun as she came out of the kitchen. A pleasant smell followed her. French fries.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard, wait."

  
  


The night got better as the music got louder and they ate and drank almost everything left in Bahorel's house. At the fourth wine, Grantaire was royally drunk and Marius and Cosette followed close. Everyone was more or less chilling on the floor, some watching tv, other lazily dancing with their eyes closed and Jehan was one of them. This time his hair wasn't tied in a braid but was let loose, flowing freely in the air as Eponine danced along next to him. They were the perfect curtain between Grantaire and Enjolras, who was laughing (for once, in his life) to some horrible pun Joly told. He was certainly tipsy, but he was always very cautious with his alcohol. God forbid he may lower down to Grantaire's level!

The boy was soon left alone, as Musichetta grasped Joly's arm ("I want to dance!") but they got interrupted by Courfeyrac, who was completely high.

"Let's play something!"

The whole lot (or at least, the ones who could hear Courfeyrac over the music) agreed,

especially Combeferre who probably didn't even remember his own name.

"For example?" asked Eponine as she danced with her hands on Jehan's narrow hips. Grantaire grinned at the scene.

"'Never have I ever', for example," Courfeyrac answered, as he placed a hand on Jehan's heated cheek. The boy squealed at the contact, but he immediately gripped Courf's hand and brought it on his shoulder.

"Let's play then."

 

 

Grantaire didn't dare to move from the couch, and he was soon joined by Combeferre and Jehan, who started braiding his dark locks together. He couldn't help his own curiousity and observed Enjolras, who was sitting between Courfeyrac and Bahorel, and he couldn't look anymore uncomfortable. Unless he sat next to Grantaire, and that probably never happened in over two years. 

Feuilly was the first one to start. "Never have I ever... uhm, slept naked."

Someone laughed and Eponine, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Musichetta, Bahorel and Grantaire himself drank.

"This one was lame, I expected more of you!" exclaimed Courfeyrac.

"My turn!" said Bossuet. "Never have I ever roleplayed in bed."

Jehan, Feuilly, Courfeyrac and, surprisingly enough, both Marius and Cosette drank.

"Are we off with the sexual questions then?" laughed Combeferre.

"Is that some kind of implicit question, dear?" investigated Musichetta.

It was Joly's turn.

"Never have I ever had very bad sex."

Someone snorted and Eponine, Grantaire and Courfeyrac finished their glasses.

"Time to refill!"

"Is it my turn? Right." Musichetta played with one of her dreadlocks and hummed. "Never have I ever had sex with my best friend," and she proceeded to wink to Eponine.

Grantaire and Jehan both sighed and started drinking, but they almost chocked on their vodka when they were joined by Enjolras and Combeferre.

Everybody was either 1) too drunk to get the hint or 2) too high to realize the weight of that silent answers, and even if Grantaire thought he was going to hyperventilate, the game went on.

"Mmhh... Never have I ever... had sex with Grantaire!"

Everybody laughed at that, but then Jehan, Courfeyrac and Eponine took a sip out of their glasses. Well, Jehan actually seized the occasion to empty his. Everyone was giggling, Grantaire included, except for one person, who was as still as a marble statue. The artist raised his eyes and met the agitated sea caught in Enjolras' glare. He immediately broke the eye contact as if his glass was suddenly way more interesting than Grantaire's questioning face.

"It's Enjolras' turn now," Courfeyrac reminded everyone, and a polite silence fell in the room.

"Never have I ever..." he clearly couldn't come up with anything in that moment, "uhm... Never have I ever had sex with... Jehan."

Everybody drank from their glass, and Enjolras watched shocked as both Marius and Cosette proceeded to take a sip, only to stare surprised at each other.

"You must be _kidding me_."

Grantaire leant to Eponine's side to whisper in her hear "Jehan told me that he taught Cosette how to blow-"

"Merde R, thanks. That's something I definitively didn't want to know, thank you."

"But I honestly don't know what he could possibly have taught to little Marius."

 

The game was finally showing his terrible effects on the others. Courfeyrac was now staring at Jehan's mouth as he licked his sugary red lips. He knew that Jehan liked to sleep around, he never hid his love for sex and he was able to love every person in that room, Grantaire included. Courfeyrac, on his part, wooed whoever was attractive enough to catch his eyes, and hardly did he give up until he succeeded. He didn't really know the nature of his friends' relationship - he just knew that they fooled around and Jehan was head over heels for the other, and the unrequited love of his life just happened to be the horniest and the friendliest guy in, well, probably in the whole Paris.

The game went on, and Courfeyrac admitted that he had never cheated (it's easy when you hardly are in relationships), whereas both Eponine and Grantaire had to drink their alcohol down.

He could feel the judging gaze of Enjolras pratically burning through his skin - he felt guilty and  horrible as his sins and vices rolled out for everyone to see.

Combeferre said that he had never had sex in a public place, but Musichetta and her boyfriends giggled and gulped down what was left of their drinks.

 

  


An hour and many embarassing questions later the room turned to be very silent, as almost everyone went home. The only ones who were still around were Courfeyrac, who was waiting for Combeferre and Enjolras to help Bahorel and Joly with the cleaning, and Grantaire and Jehan, who never left their spot. 

He spent twenty minutes, not surprisingly, staring at the ceiling, in a vain attempt to sober up (and to avoid crossing eyes with Enjolras). He felt someone moving on his side.

Jehan put a knee on the couch and straddled Grantaire's lap, who was still drunk enough to think better than to stop him.

"R... let's go home, shall we?" the poet whispered drunken kisses on his mouth.

"Do you mean on Eponine's couch or your extraordinary huge bed?"

"I don't care, I just want to sleep. In an universe where Courf doesn't exist, possibly. And where

Enjolras doesn't devour you with eyes like a vulture."

"He's just annoyed by my presence, that's all."

"Or maybe by mine," the poet exhaled, before catching Grantaire's lips in a open-mouthed kiss.

And that's the thing about Jehan: he didn't act on his own pleasures, but to those of his friends. He knew they were watched, he knew Courfeyrac was just sitting across the room and Enjolras walked costantly in front of them in order to clean up the place.

They engaged in a filthy, wet kiss - the fair-haired boy bathed his fingers in the dark mess of Grantaire's hair, holding onto his curls and deepening the kiss with his head tilted and his legs parted on each side of Grantaire. He never got to know whether he was right or not: he was too mesmerized by Jehan's rough touch to care if anybody acted jealous outside their little, loving bubble.

Jehan was thrusting on him, soliciting little moans between the two - his long hair tickled Grantaire's collar bone and he felt the need to move his mouth on Jehan's neck, tasting the freckled skin with his tongue and sinking his teeth straight after. Jehan moaned, delighted. He loved bites.

"Ok, ok, let's get you home or I'm going to fuck you on Bahorel's couch." Grantaire detached from Jehan's strong grip and tried to get up.

"I'd love that," mewled Jehan.

Grantaire snorted.

"No, you wouldn't. Not with the room full of completely drunk people. C'mon."

Jehan got reclutantly onto his feet. "I hate you."

He waved goodbye to his friends (Enjolras was nowhere to be seen) and opened the door.

"I'm goint to walk you home. You can't hate me."

  
  
  


And Grantaire did. It was a slow walk, but Paris was energic even in the early morning and he needed some fresh air anyway. The silent tapping of his converse was followed by the heavy steps of Jehan's green boots, all the way to Jehan's building.

When they reached the door, Grantaire waited for Jehan to find his keys and waved him off. "Bye then."

Jehan froze on his steps. "Where are you going? You're staying."

The other man shook his head. "Na, I've got class tomorrow - well, in a few hours actually."

"Well, you can sleep here and then leave. We're just two blocks away from uni, you know."

"Yeah, I know that."

"Are you afraid you're not going to sleep if I'm around?" Jehan smirked.

Grantaire couldn't help but snort. "Not after tonight, no. I basically got assaulted. And you're just a little high."

He cast down his eyes. "So you've noticed."

Grantaire nodded. "Of course I did. I know what you had in mind."

"And it worked."

"Listen Jehan..." he started backing off a bit and took his eyes off Jehan's, "I don't want our... whatever we have going on here, I don't want it to be just a trick to lure somebody else into liking me, or you, for that matter."

"Do you think I'm using you? That's what you think?" inquired the smaller boy, a flash of betrayal lighted up his eyes.

"We're both using each other, Jehan."

And as he sighed the words out, Jehan moved forward to cup Grantaire's face.

"I would never, never, use you. Yeah, I feel lonely, you feel lonely, we both feel lonely and sometimes it looks like we just give in to loneliness. Is that so horrible? I want to sleep with you. Like, proper sleeping. But I also want to ravish you, because I'm wild jealous of Enjolras and the ridiculous claim he thinks he has on you." he stepped on his toes and chastely kissed him on the lips. Grantaire felt like crying. He responded with many, soft kisses that encouraged Jehan to open his cherry-red lips, and he deepened the contact by licking his way in, catching the boy arms and keeping him close.

 

Their eyes were closed, but they both knew that behind closed lids there were two different faces in the whole picture. Jehan and his freckles were gone, and he could see just Enjolras' angry gaze, Orestes' beautiful jaw clenched as he condemned Pylades.

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from King Charles' song "Love Lust".


End file.
